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The Bride Wore a Condom
By Andy McAllister
Copyright 2012 by Andy McAllister
mailto:panda.andy.mcallister@gmail.com
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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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The Bride Wore a Condom
Chapter One
Carl Kenworth walked in through the door of the seedy establishment on lower East 43rd Street. He had never been there before, though he had considered stopping in many times, just out of curiosity, of course. The place was Strokers, a strip club that catered to a very specialized clientele. That clientele was predominantly male, though even among that gender those targeted by this exotic dance venue were even more specialized. Strokers employed only shemales; those born male, but had surgically been endowed with implants so they had very feminine and beautiful breasts, and most of them wider, more feminine hips and buttocks, yet still retained their male organs down below.
He took a seat toward the back of the club where he hoped it would be dark enough that no one would notice him, or if they did no one would recognize him. Carl Kenworth was someone many people would know, since he had amassed his first million by the time he was twenty-four years old and since then had gone on to build his bank accounts into the billions. He did it not by inventing anything unique or important, for Carl Kenworth had no skills in the creative areas, no his only skill lie in being able to determine which companies on the stock exchange were soon to go viral, as the current lingo called something that suddenly skyrocketed through the roof – figuratively, of course. By buying and selling stocks he had been able to make his fortune many times over and because of that was someone well known in certain circles of the business world. He hoped as he watched the “girls” plying their exotic craft upon the stage up front that none of those people who would recognize him would be in a place like this on the seedier side of town.
“Hi, I’m Ginger,” a lithe-bodied redhead with a slightly husky voice slid into the chair next to him and immediately one of her hands was on his leg, his upper thigh area. Carl’s heartbeat increased. He noticed right away that she was dressed provocatively in very sparse garments. She wore what amounted to a bra and nothing else on the upper portion of her body and a bikini bottom or Spankies on the lower portion. Her feet were in four-inch spike heels and looked as lethal as she did.
“Are you lonely today?” Ginger asked, her hand sliding along that same thigh, reaching higher and more toward the center toward his crotch with each upward movement. “If you are,” Ginger unexpectedly lifted from her chair, her right leg swinging up and over the table, proving just how limber a dancer she was, and came down on the far side of Carl’s body, her well-rounded buttocks settling down onto his lap at the same time her hand slid down into his crotch and cupped his testicles, “I can keep you company and show you a good time.”
Ginger’s eyes, which Carl noticed were green and went perfectly with her copper hair, were straight in front of him, looking directly into his eyes, though not level with his eyes. That distinction went to the two very well-formed orbs that stared straight into his face from Ginger’s chest. Carl looked down from the stripper’s eyes to her breasts and noticed the way the swell of them heaved upward each time she inhaled, and then lowered with each exhalation. Sweat began beading up on his face and then began trickling down the side of his head toward his shirt collar. He reached a hand up and inserted a finger beneath his collar in order to loosen it. Was it getting hot in this place? Had someone turned up the heat since he’d entered?
Not receiving any kind of answer from the man she hoped would be buying her drinks until it was her turn to go back up on stage, Ginger decided to “sweeten the pot” and pressed her lips to his. Her lips spread softly and her tongue snaked out of her mouth and into his. Carl felt his tongue as though it was swelling and he felt as though he might die right there on the spot.
“Please,” he pulled his head back from hers and placed his hands on her chest in order to push her back from him. He realized at the same time Ginger did that his hands were directly over her nipples, his fingers almost groping her breasts as he tried to gain some space between them.
“Oooo, I like an aggressive man,” Ginger cooed in her slightly raspy voice.
“No, I – I didn’t mean…” Carl rapidly withdrew his hands and tried to stand, something he was unable to do with his lap currently occupied, but at least his upward movement caused the dancer to be unsettled from her position and she tumbled partially back from him. “I only came in here to – watch,” he finally said, his eyes telling her he was being truthful.
Ginger sighed and lifted off his lap. “All right, honey, if you say so.” She took hold of the knot in his tie and then slid her hand up toward his chin and chucked it between her thumb and forefinger. She leaned her face close to his once more and said, “But if you change your mind…” and she gave him one last lingering kiss.
Carl watched her ass swing side-to-side as the dancer walked over toward another table with another lonely looking man and repeated her performance. This time, Carl noted, the customer decided to take her up on her offer and she remained on his lap for quite awhile.
“Anything I can get you from the bar?” The voice at his shoulder was so unexpected Carl almost fell from his chair. He looked to his left and saw another vision of erotic abundance staring back at him. The outfit she wore was as skimpy as the one Ginger wore and he deduced the dancers in this venue must have to divide their time between dancing, enticing customers to buy drinks – and more – for them and serving those drinks to the customers.
“Ah, do you have Michelob Ultra?” he asked, thinking that even though he was in a strip club he still needed to watch his calorie intake.
The waitress smiled at him and tweaked his cheek with her fingers. “You’re cute. No Mick, but we got light beer on tap.”
“I’ll take one of those, then,” he answered, noting that his throat was now so dry he could barely speak.
His eyes turned toward the stage and he watched the dancer performing her routine. He wondered to himself if he should think of these dancers in terms of “she” as he’d found he was doing, since they certainly looked female in appearance, or if he should use the more proper “he”, all of them actually being of the male gender? He shrugged to himself and decided “she” would do just fine. Just then the waitress was back and he fished in his pocket for his wallet and handed her an American Express Platinum Card. The waitress looked it over carefully, considering she didn’t get many of this type of credit card in Strokers, and then shrugged and walked away to run the card for the price of the drink. She returned the card a minute later and as she handed it over, made sure to rub her nearly bare ass against Carl’s arm. It certainly couldn’t hurt to score points with someone who could afford one of those prestigious cards, she thought. He watched her walk away and felt his erection swell in his pants.
One hand unconsciously moved to his groin and slid across it a few times. He realized what he was doing and pulled his hand back with a jerk. He slipped his AmEx card in his shirt pocket and then tipped the glass of beer up to his lips and returned to watching the new dancer that had just come onto the stage. She seemed to be better than the previous dancer, he thought. She had an easier style about her; more graceful. As Carl watched he wondered if this club ever hired actual females to perform. This dancer certainly seemed to have the grace of someone born female, but then he thought back to the times he’d been dragged to the ballet and how many of the male performers were as graceful as the female.
Once more he felt an erection bulging in his pants, but he refrained from stroking it, the thought making him smile. “Ah, so that’s why they named this place “Strokers”, he said to himself. “Very appropriate.”
Carl stayed for the remainder of the afternoon, since it had only been about two-twenty or so when he’d arrived, and didn’t leave until the new girls began filtering in and the dancers he’d been watching went backstage to get dressed in street clothes so they could go home. He sat back in his chair, his chin to his chest – partly because of the amount of beer he’d consumed over the course of the hours and partly because he was considering his next move. He’d become highly enamored with the one dancer, the one the announcer called Shannon every time she came onstage to perform. She was the one who seemed to have more gracefulness, more fluidity than the others, as though her body flowed across the stage during her routine, not simply strutted or gyrated in order to make men horny. He’d wanted to ask her to sit at his table with him, but had steadfastly refused to do more than simply watch – at least for this first time in this place. Perhaps next time he visited here?